


From the Ashes

by Layla_Sanura



Series: Clearblue [1]
Category: Anita Blake: Vampire Hunter - Laurell K. Hamilton
Genre: Action/Adventure, Drama & Romance, F/M, Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-01
Updated: 2020-05-01
Packaged: 2021-02-23 02:41:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,821
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23937766
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Layla_Sanura/pseuds/Layla_Sanura
Summary: Anita and Jean-Claude encourage Asher to make an appointment with the newest preternatural in St. Louis, metaphysical healer Dr. Aldan--but before the healing can commence, he must confront his past.
Relationships: Asher (Anita Blake)/Original Character(s)
Series: Clearblue [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1725550
Comments: 6
Kudos: 15





	From the Ashes

**Author's Note:**

  * For [evilynne](https://archiveofourown.org/users/evilynne/gifts).



> This is a story I originally wrote in 2011 when the Anita Blake: Vampire Hunter series was fresh in my mind. Sadly, I have drifted away from the series in recent years, as the quality has steadily declined and the plot aspects I enjoyed the most became fewer and far between. I therefore do not recall where exactly in the canon timeline this story falls, though I believe setting it around The Harlequin makes the most sense. Apologies for any inaccuracies. I hope you enjoy!

**Chapter 1: 9 p.m. Appointment**

Dr. Aldan switched on a soft instrumental melody at the stereo within the large mahogany cabinet that stood between the two windows in the wall opposite her office door. When she had initially configured the furniture, she’d hidden the four speakers behind plants in each corner of the room, and she always had the cabinet closed during therapy sessions so the stereo was never visible to clients—it was as if the music seeped from the walls themselves, humming through the air with no discernible source. She then dimmed the recessed lighting and lit a few candles around the room that contributed both a pleasant glow and understated summer scent to the ambiance.

Ambiance was half the battle in her field. To inspire calming and supportive energy, Dr. Aldan had chosen a creamy rose color for the walls—a bit too light and warm to be truly red, but too dark to be pink—and all the wood furniture was the same rich mahogany as the cabinet. For the non-wood pieces, the long deep couch and matching loveseat of the conference area, she’d gone with lustrous brown leather. Surrounded by inviting earthy reds and browns, the room seemed dense and touchable.

Appearance mattered too, though at times she was loathed to admit it. _Appearance is the oil that keeps the engine running_ , her mother would frequently remind her when she stalked about her childhood home in ripped denim and black tee-shirts. She utilized the tall dressing mirror attached to the inside left cabinet door. Her hair fell in thick waves down to her breasts: her locks were brilliant chestnut, but could look auburn in bright lighting—or when paired with the right color, and the sky-blue of her crisp button-down proved to be one. The blouse also accentuated her blue eyes, made the irises brighter and the eyes themselves seemingly larger. The bottom half of her ensemble was a navy-blue pencil skirt, tight but not scandalous, and a thin black belt with a silver rectangular buckle that ran around her trim waist. For shoes, she’d chosen three-inch black Mary Jane pumps in faux patent leather that gleamed as she walked, and boosted her natural height of five-seven to a slightly daunting five-ten.

After setting the finishing touches to her office and herself, Dr. Aldan sat down at her desk and once again read through the open case file atop it. The folder was light, as it only contained one sheet of paper: the few sentences of notes she’d taken after getting the call last week. Her newest prospective client was a vampire, an old one, from the way the woman she’d spoken with on the phone talked about him, or rather, talked _around_ him. Only the old vampires, or the people who represented them, refused to give her detailed information over the phone. Nevertheless, she at least had an idea of the nature of the situation: the vampire wanted her to heal burn scars that he’d sustained in his past. To her knowledge, there were only two ways a vampire could receive permanent burns—prolonged exposure to a cross or holy water.

The phone intercom on Dr. Aldan’s desk beeped, followed by her receptionist’s voice: “A Ms. Blake and party are here, doctor.”

She pressed the speaker button and spoke toward the phone, “Thank you, send them in. And thanks again for staying late, Erin.”

“Of course, Dr. A.”

She heard the smile in Erin Chow’s voice when she said the last. Good help was indeed hard to come by, and she was grateful every day for Erin’s assistance in managing her schedule and client files.

Her office door opened and three people walked in: a petite woman with long, curly black hair; and two men, both tall, but one with black hair nearly the same length and texture as the woman’s, the other with shoulder-length blond locks straight as rain that captured light at every angle as he strode through the threshold. The blonde closed the door behind them, as he was the last to enter.

She stood from her desk and smiled at them. “Hello, thank you for coming. I’m Dr. Aldan.” She extended an arm toward the sitting area on the opposite side of the office, “Please, have a seat and get comfortable. We’ll begin right away.”

**Chapter 2: Introductions**

The party shuffled over to the couch, loveseat, and chair arranged around an ornate oval mahogany coffee table. The collection of furniture sat atop a large and subtly beautiful Persian rug that featured dark red and gold interwoven designs. Dr. Aldan followed them, notepad and file in hand, and sat in the upholstered chair. The two men sat together on the couch, while the woman chose the loveseat for herself.

She opened the file in her lap and glanced down at it briefly. “Two of you are here for support, I see.” She looked across at the woman. “You must be Anita Blake, whom I spoke with on the phone, which means,” she changed her focus to the men on her left, “that one of _you_ is my client. Ms. Blake did not give me a name, nor a description, so I’ll need you to fill me in.” She added a warm encouraging smile to her last remark.

The black-haired man cleared his throat and took the blonde’s hand in his—Dr. Aldan found this interesting and made a note. “My friend,” he looked at the man whose hand he held, “is your client, doctor, but he is here about a subject that gives him most displeasure and so we,” he gestured to Anita on his left, “are here, as you say, for support.”

The other man had not yet made eye contact with her. He kept his eyes locked on his fingers intertwined with his friend’s (lover’s?).

Dr. Aldan nodded and discreetly wrote on her notepad. “Alright. I can see we’ll need to start out slow—many of the people I treat come in with negative feelings the first time. Let’s begin with your names, and then I’ll give you an overview of what exactly I do.”

Again, the black-haired man spoke for the group. “You already know Anita; I am Jean-Claude, and this is Asher.”

Dr. Aldan added more to her notes. “Thank you.” She set her papers aside, crossed her legs and folded her hands over her knee. “As you may know, I’m not a medical doctor; knowledge of medicine doesn’t do much good in my field.” She gestured over her head to several handsomely framed diplomas and plaques mounted in a cluster on the wall behind her. “I am a licensed psychologist and metaphysical healer. I can heal internal injuries such as bleeding, ruptured organs, bacterial or viral infections, and broken bones; I can heal external injuries such as bruises, punctures, lacerations, scars, and burns.—”

Asher looked at Dr. Aldan for the first time. She paused momentarily, noting the attention, then continued. “I can heal humans as well as non-humans. Although my experience of the latter group has been with wereanimals and vampires, my abilities theoretically extend to all preternatural creatures. Questions?”

Anita spoke up, “How do you heal? Give me a visual. And how long have you been able to do what you do?”

Dr. Aldan smiled. “Something many people are curious about. The physical process is simple: I hold my hands over a person’s afflicted area, not touching the skin, but close to. What I actually _do_ to heal is more complicated. The easiest way to explain it is that I think _heal_ —I project nurturing, mending energy outward from me and into or onto the body of the person. As long as I can remember I’ve been a fast healer myself. Then one day when I was nine, my mother was in our kitchen dicing onions and sliced her hand open deeply with a knife. I’d never heard her scream like that before. There was blood everywhere, all over the countertop, on the floor; it was the first time I was truly terrified. I ran to her and found her stumbling around the kitchen squeezing a towel in her hand, trying to stop the bleeding—but it had soaked through the cloth, and was still streaming down her arm. My instinct was to grab her wrist; I remember thinking, if only she could have some of my energy and use it to mend her cut. And then I felt a jolt, and a strange tingling in my hand and fingers. I took the towel away and her hand had healed, there wasn’t even a mark left on it. I had willed the blood to stop, because I couldn’t stand to see my mother like that. I _needed_ her to be better, and I made it so.”

“ _Intéressant_.” Jean-Claude commented after a pause. “And you said you have healed vampires before. Would you elaborate?”

“I have donated some of my blood to a vampire who had gone so long without feeding that he was delusional and severely weak. He told me it was more revitalizing than any he’d had before, moreso even than lycanthrope blood.” Jean-Claude and Anita exchanged a look; Dr. Aldan continued, “I’ve also healed burns made on vampire flesh by crosses. Back East, where I attended school, there were repeated incidents of a group of humans capturing vampires and torturing them with crosses. They would attach a cross to a wooden pole and press it into the vampires’ skin multiple times.”

“Like branding,” Anita put in, “in Virginia, right? I read about that case.” She scowled. “Motherfuckers. Three were arrested and charged with hate-crime assault.” A sudden recollection passed over her face, “Wait—Dr. C. Aldan; you were mentioned in the article. You offered to heal all the vampire victims pro-bono.”

Dr. Aldan nodded. “I did, and twelve of the sixteen took me up on it.”

“Do you have a preference for working with humans over non-humans?” It was Asher who voiced the question, and Jean-Claude glanced at Anita again. With his head raised and looking intently at her, Dr. Aldan noticed that he arranged his hair so that the right portion of his face was shielded, like a melodramatic hipster—although Asher exuded much more elegance and depth.

She shook her head. “No. Everyone deserves a chance to heal. I’m in a position where I can sympathize with both—I live in a human world, I have human thoughts and concerns, but I also have abilities that average humans find difficult to understand.” She looked curiously at Anita as she said the next, “Only the metaphysically gifted can really know what it’s like to straddle the line between human and supernatural.”

Anita returned the eye contact with full force. “What’s with the look?” Her tone was less than friendly.

“If you’ll allow me some latitude?” Dr. Aldan’s question was directed mainly to Jean-Claude, who, despite Anita’s formidable attitude, seemed to be the leader of their troupe.

“ _Oui_. Yes.”

“I don’t just heal. I also have . . . metaphysical attributes tied to bodily functioning. For instance, I can sense a person’s pulse,” she looked at Jean-Claude and Asher, “or lack thereof. If a woman is pregnant, even only a few weeks, I can sense the fetus’s pulse as separate from the mother’s. I can tell a human from a lycanthrope both from the speed of their heartbeats and their energy output. What I’m saying is, because I can heal any life form, I can also accurately decipher what that life form _is_. Even when people try to hide it from me.”

Jean-Claude opened his mouth to respond, but Anita beat him to it. “What are you getting at?” Still not friendly.

Dr. Aldan smiled at Anita and put real effort into a soothing tone. “It’s more what I’m curious about. I know Jean-Claude and Asher are vampires, and that you’re also something non-human, or at least human with a large helping of metaphysical.” She closed her eyes and wrinkled her nose. “You smell of lycanthrope. You’re not a full panwere, yet you have multiple strands of lycanthropy: canine and feline, but that’s it. And there’s something else, under the beasts, something older and more honed.” She stood from her chair and joined Anita on the loveseat. “May I?” She held out a hand, palm up.

Anita looked from her to Jean-Claude, who nodded. “What?”

“Hover your hand above mine, close but not touching.” Anita did so, and concentration came over Dr. Aldan’s face, followed by confusion, then intrigue. “The touch of the dead,” she murmured.

**Chapter 3: Logistics**

There was a pause, then Anita replied, “I’m sorry?”

Dr. Aldan blinked up at Anita’s face. She had inadvertently moved in toward her, bringing their upper bodies very near. “So strong,” she whispered. “You must be extremely powerful. The dead—” she glanced quickly at Asher and Jean-Claude— “you call to them, and they to you. A necromancer?”

Anita nodded. “How . . .?”

Jean-Claude interjected, “What _ma petite_ means is, how can you sense all that Anita carries? She has a bit of everything, and she is powerful enough to mask it well. The only ones who know her easily as a necromancer are vampires.” His eyes narrowed at her slightly. “Of great age.”

Dr. Aldan leaned away from Anita and straightened herself, smoothing her skirt over her lap. “I have the most trouble explaining this part to clients.” She cleared her throat softly. “My abilities allow me to discern the physical and metaphysical makeup of an individual—I need to know _what_ I’m healing before I can begin the process, as different creatures require different levels of healing energy. Humans require the most energy, while lycanthropes and vampires require significantly less because their bodies are able to recover much faster on their own than human bodies can. Even so, there are differences within these groups too: a weak wereanimal requires more energy than a dominant, and a young vampire requires more than an older one. To an outsider, healing may seem a simple undertaking, but it’s much more intricate—and potentially dangerous—than one may suspect. I need to be as exact as possible when I perform a healing, otherwise I may end up doing more harm than good.”

Anita thought out loud, “So, you use your energy as a . . .” she waved her hand in a circular motion as she decided on the correct word— “probe in order to read a patient’s metaphysical Table of Contents.”

Dr. Aldan flashed a smile, “Yes, exactly so.”

Anita smiled back. “I get that. I do the same thing with my abilities. It’s easiest with my necromancy, but I’m learning more and more how to do it with my wereanimals.”

Dr. Aldan clasped her hands together and sat primly against the loveseat. “Alright. Are there any more questions I can answer before we move on to part two?”

“Part two?” Asher asked, glancing between Jean-Claude and Anita.

Jean-Claude turned to Dr. Aldan. “We were not aware there were multiple stages to this meeting.”

“When I see clients one-on-one, there aren’t, but because Asher brought you two along I’ve gone through my introduction with all of you. The psychological evaluation, however, needs to be done privately. Keep in mind that I’m not only a psychic doctor; I’m bound by doctor-patient confidentiality just as any physician or therapist is.”

“Wait.” Anita held up her hand and shook her head. “I thought the process was: Asher has the consultation, you decide if you can help him or not, and if so, we schedule a time to have the procedure. You didn’t mention any _psychological evaluation_. Isn’t that a bit much?”

“Not at all. Asher’s injuries aren’t life threatening. Having a superficial scar or burn removed is the equivalent of cosmetic surgery, and I need to make sure that, psychologically, Asher is electing to have this done for the right reasons. Just as people can become addicted to appearance-altering surgery, they can become addicted to healing energy, even when they no longer need it. If I were to push my energy into a healthy person, the effect would be like that of a drug. I need to be certain that Asher does not have an addictive personality, and that his psyche is stable enough for the procedure.”

Jean-Claude asked, “Please explain what you mean by ‘stable enough.’”

Dr. Aldan took a breath and thought a moment about her answer. “When people fixate on particular parts of their bodies they don’t like, it can cause chronic low self-esteem. _Some_ self-esteem issues are expected, especially for people of a certain age—like adolescents and teens. But a body-image problem can go beyond just causing low self-esteem and become an obsession, and that’s what physicians need to look out for. People who are so concentrated on a particular body part can subconsciously attach higher-than-normal expectations to having that part fixed. They assume that, once they have the surgery, their self-confidence will automatically go up, that they’ll be able to live the lives they always wanted. That just isn’t the case. Self-confidence is a mental state, not a physical one. And so, when their lifestyles don’t improve as drastically as they thought, they can experience continued feelings of low self-worth, become despondent, depressed, or even suicidal. Any responsible health care professional would insist on such an evaluation.”

Anita gave Asher a long look, and then glanced at Jean-Claude. “So, if Asher doesn’t pass this evaluation . . .?”

“I will not agree to do the procedure,” Dr. Aldan finished for her.

The three of them seemed to be caught in a triangular stare, as if speaking a language Dr. Aldan didn’t understand. “I tell you what,” she interrupted their silent conversation, “why don’t you talk it over. You may have my office and I’ll be out in the waiting room.”

Jean-Claude gave her a thin smile. “Thank you, doctor. We appreciate it.”

**Chapter 4: Tension**

Dr. Aldan looked to Erin over the magazine she was reading. The youthful receptionist was playing Solitaire on the computer at her desk, one side of her adorable bobbed hair tucked behind her ear while the other side hung loose around her face. The glossy black color seemed to contain blue highlighting that Dr. Aldan knew was just reflection of the light from her computer screen.

“Fifteen minutes,” Erin said, as if speaking to an invisible patient in the waiting room.

“Sorry?”

“They’ve been in there for fifteen minutes.” She grinned at Dr. Aldan. “You’ve checked your watch every three minutes since you’ve been out here; thought I’d save you the trouble this time.”

Dr. Aldan felt herself blush slightly. “Oh. Thanks.”

“Also, I’ve been bugging you for weeks that we need better magazine subscriptions for our clients. Have an opinion now?” Erin raised an eyebrow and let her lips twist into the beginning of a smirk.

She sighed. “Yes, you’re right. I’m bored out of my skull reading this horrible thing. Who knew there was actually a monthly magazine dedicated to irritable bowel syndrome? Monthly! Why are we even subscribed to this one?”

“You told me to pick the five cheapest health-oriented magazines. I believe your exact words were: ‘I don’t care which, no one reads waiting room magazines.’ Oh, the irony.”

“Well, what do you have in mind?”

“ _Cosmo_? _GQ_? Tabloids? _Anything_ that’s actually entertaining. Not that you aren’t good at your job, but people are usually nervous while sitting in waiting rooms, especially when waiting to see a shrink.”

“Okay. Put that at the top of the list for tomorrow morning, then.”

Erin opened her mouth to reply, but at that moment Anita stepped into the waiting room.

“We’ve decided,” she said quietly.

Dr. Aldan nodded and met Anita in the doorway. She shot a hopeful smile at Erin over her shoulder before reentering her office and closing the door behind her.

Jean-Claude and Asher were still sitting together on the couch as she had left them, but had moved closer to one another. She had stepped into the room in time to see Jean-Claude bring his hand down from cupping Asher’s cheek. Asher kept his head turned away from her.

It was Jean-Claude who made the announcement: “Asher would like to proceed with the psychological evaluation. I will admit that Anita and I initially brought your services to his attention regarding to his burns, and that he was reluctant to come see you, but he has made up his own mind about this evaluation business, and ultimately,” he turned back to Asher and lowered his voice somewhat, “that is all that matters.” He paused, and used a finger to raise Asher’s head to make eye contact with him. “ _Mon ami_ . . .” Jean-Claude kissed his forehead and then stood from the couch.

Dr. Aldan thought the mood of the room was peculiarly somber for someone who had just made what she considered a positive choice. Jean-Claude passed her in a brisk stride toward the door; Anita followed at a more regular pace.

She paused at Dr. Aldan’s elbow. “This is very important to him. Don’t make this harder than it has to be.” Her voice was a whisper, but the tone was unmistakably cold.

Dr. Aldan stifled a gasp and nodded.

“What time should we return?” Jean-Claude asked from the office threshold.

Asher interjected before she could answer: “You do not need to return for me. I feel that I will require some time to myself afterward.”

Jean-Claude moved his head an almost imperceptible amount, in what was perhaps a private gesture between them. “I understand,” was all he said before leaving the room.

Anita looked from Asher to the doctor but said nothing and then was hot on Jean-Claude’s heels. She pulled the door shut rather loudly, in what Dr. Aldan would describe as a _slam_ , if she didn’t know better.

She stared at the closed door for a moment, debating whether to ask Asher about what had transpired between them in those fifteen minutes. Was it worth it? Maybe not. If he wanted to talk about it, she’d let him bring it up.

“Please excuse my friends. They feel very strongly about this subject.” Asher’s voice was calm for the circumstances. “Especially Jean-Claude.”

Dr. Aldan took a breath and shook her head in an attempt to clear it. She turned to Asher with a smile and retook her seat on the chair to the right of the couch. “You’re lucky to have such caring people in your life,” she began cautiously.

“Caring, yes.” Asher slowly ran a hand through his hair, and revealed for the first time the right side of his face.

**Chapter 5: Tears Between Lovers**

Anita pounded her fist on the steering wheel of her car. “Dammit!”

Jean-Claude sat motionless beside her in the passenger seat wearing the pleasant, close-lipped smile he used as a mask.

She diverted her anger at him, because it was all she could do. “Well? Say something!” She shouted. “I _hate_ it when you do this—go all invisible on me and shut down. I know you’re thinking the same thing I am right now, only I’ve got the _balls_ to show it.”

Jean-Claude rubbed his temples, a rare gesture of frustration. “I am sorry, _ma petite_ , I am not yet used to displaying negative emotion. For many centuries, it was better that I did not. I agree with your anger. I am angry as well.”

Anita leaned forward and rested her forehead on the steering wheel. “We _finally_ found someone who can help him. After calling every fucking dermatologist and cosmetic surgeon in Missouri, we finally found a guarantee, and now it may not happen,” her voice began to waver. “Why did she have to be a psychologist too? He’s going to blow it with the psych eval.”

Jean-Claude put a hand on her shoulder. “Have some faith in our Asher.”

“How can I? We both know how bitter and self-conscious he is about his burns. His attitude is so,” her voice caught in her throat, “careful, like half the time he expects us to suddenly change our minds about loving him. And now . . .” Anita lifted her head and furiously wiped the tears from her cheeks. “And now he has an opportunity to be whole again, be the person he used to be, and all the trauma and rejection he’s gone through may get in his way. It’s not right, Jean-Claude.”

He sighed. “You do not know how many times I have wished to go back and fix what happened, how many times I have fantasized about appearing in time and stopping those hateful men from—” He cut himself off, and once again his body went unnaturally still. “Every time I look at Asher’s face, I do not think badly of him, I think badly of myself. If only I had arrived at his side a day, perhaps hours sooner, he would not have those scars to bear.” He paused to collect himself. “But what keeps me from beating myself in grief is the knowledge that Asher is stronger than he seems. You forget that the trauma and rejection you speak of happened long ago. If a vampire can count on anything, it is time. Asher has had centuries to come to terms with what happened. It may not have cured him entirely of his bitterness, but _ma petite_ , be glad that this evaluation is happening now, and not directly after the incident.”

Anita let out a slow breath. “You’re right. Now that he’s been getting more attention from you in the bedroom, more attention in general, it’s a good time. But that doesn’t stop me from worrying; he can get hurt so easily if he thinks someone’s looking at him the wrong way. I _know_ he’s strong, but sometimes . . . he just seems so fragile.”

Jean-Claude leaned toward her and ran fingers through her hair; he touched his forehead to hers and kissed her nose. “ _Oui_. But let us not think on that anymore tonight,” he whispered. “Asher will pass the evaluation, or he will not. It is that simple. And whatever the outcome, we will support him and move from there.”

**Chapter 6: Old World Memories**

While his eye, nose, and lips were unaffected, there were deep rivulets of scarring carved into the skin. Her gaze followed the scars in a trail down his neck, over his collarbone and beneath his shirt. They weren’t unsightly—more striking, really. Far removed from the worst she had seen in her line of work, but she could imagine why he wanted them gone. Visible injuries were always worse for the wearer; friends and family could get used to the scars of loved ones, could see past them eventually, but to the person carrying around marks of trauma, they never went away.

“Say it.”

Dr. Aldan blinked her attention back to her present interview. “Say what?”

“Whatever it is you are thinking. Say it out loud.” His voice had a subtle tremor to it, but whether he was holding back anger or pain, she couldn’t tell. Yet.

“I was just thinking how. . .” She reached out an arm toward the scarred side of his face, but pulled it quickly back. “I’m sorry.” Her work was so hands-on she sometimes forgot that not everyone liked to be touched.

An emotion passed over his face too fast to interpret. He moved closer to her, to the far-right side of the couch against the arm. He smoothed his hair back and tucked it behind his ear. “Do not apologize. Please.” He angled his face toward her.

She cautiously stretched her arm out again. She laid soft fingers on his textured cheek and drew them slowly down the length of his face, then ran her knuckles gently over his jaw line, studying the markings as she went. “I was thinking how . . . precise and careful these scars are. If you’ll allow me to say so, they look like they were done as considerately as possible.” She took her arm back and folded both hands in her lap.

Asher laughed; there was some bitterness to it, but his tone was more astonished. “They were. I was—”

She held up a hand, “We’ll get to that shortly. First, I have some general questions to ask.”

He nodded.

“Let’s begin with: Why do you want these scars removed?”

Asher looked down to his lap, and ran hands over his thighs three times before answering. “My memory is intact.”

She thought he would explain but he remained quiet, which compelled her to ask, “What do you mean by that?”

“I mean that I remember in excruciating detail the incident that gave me these scars. I do not need to keep them in order to continually remind myself.” He suddenly looked up at her, fiercely. “You said earlier that you can heal your own body quickly and completely; I take that to mean that you do not have any scars or markings yourself?”

“That’s right.”

“Meaning every injury to your body, whether accidental, benign, or purposeful and savage, all are known only to you.”

She knew where he was going with this. “Yes.”

“You have inherited a lucky skill, doctor. Very few people know fully of the events that caused my scars, but everyone can see them, dear to me or not. The torture I endured was painful and personal, yet it is always on display to those around me. I wish to have them removed because I remember what happened, and it should be _my_ choice whether I disclose that tale, and to whom.”

Dr. Aldan wrote on her notepad. “You want to take back control of your past, of your memories.”

His face was stricken for a moment, followed quickly by a thoughtful expression. “Well said. Yes. That is what I wish.”

She gazed at him and nodded. “That’s understandable.” She held his eyes as a beat of silence passed between them. “I’m going to ask you progressively personal questions. You don’t need to give me many details, only enough so that I understand the gist. Alright?”

“I assumed as much.” He murmured.

“How did you receive your scars?”

“Priests dripped holy water across my skin.”

She added to her notes. “And the scars run down your entire right side?”

“Yes.”

More notes. “How do you feel about what was done to you?”

Asher ran a finger along his chin and inhaled slowly. “I feel . . . it was justified at the time.”

Dr. Aldan’s hand stilled and she looked at him, steady and waiting, allowing him the space to elaborate in his own time.

“Do not misunderstand: if I could undo what was done to me, I would; however, the world I knew as a young vampire was unimaginably different than the progressive world of today. The vampire I served while I lived in Europe was cruel and cunning, power-hungry and selfish. We lived lives of demonic excess. We massacred humans to gorge on their blood, manipulated governments to fit our will, and acted brutally not only to the creatures we viewed as prey, but to one another. Vampires are known as monsters because we acted as such. For a long time, I was consumed with hatred for the priests who participated in that torture, and for myself. I was indignant that men, _humans_ , were able to impact my life so dramatically. But after I came to America, returned to Jean-Claude’s side and witnessed all the good that he and the New World masters are doing to expand preternatural rights, how well humans and vampires and wereanimals and the metaphysically gifted get along—I saw by contrast how barbaric we had been in the past. I have realized that although what those priests did to me was, in a personal sense, unfair, it was not undeserved.”

Dr. Aldan had been writing quickly while Asher spoke; now she raised her head. “It sounds like you’ve been doing some serious soul-searching.”

Asher smiled slightly. “I have.”

“And what’s the cause of that?”

“I suppose the considerable change of living now in America. When I first came here I was still fueled by regret and loathing, but as I reconnected with Jean-Claude, met and became close to Anita, my good days began to outnumber my bad days. Of course it was difficult to find my place at first, but I have now, and I am happy.” He laughed to himself, as if remembering an inside joke. “I have not been this happy in several centuries.”

She smiled. “I’m glad.” She flipped back through the pages she held in her lap. “Okay, those were all the questions I had prepared; the evaluation has come to an end. If you’ll wait outside my office and allow me to reread my notes, I’ll have an answer for you about the procedure.”

“Of course, thank you.” Asher stood and offered his hand.

Dr. Aldan shook it warmly. “My pleasure, Asher.”

**Chapter 7: Distraction**

Asher took a seat in the waiting area. He sensed the receptionist looking at him, though whenever he turned in her direction, she had the good grace to glance away. On one occasion, he caught her eyes and smiled.

She turned fully to him, unable to control her grin. “Would you like me to validate your parking, sir?”

“No, thank you. I am not leaving quite yet.”

“Oh.” She blinked. “Dr. Aldan’s giving you a decision _tonight_?”

“She is.”

“Mmm.” She put a finger to her lips. “She must like you—er, your case. She usually takes a day or more to give a prospective client her decision.”

Asher leaned his right arm along the armrest of the chair, moving his body closer to her desk. “Is that a good thing, then?”

“Well, it could be. Or it could just mean that she respects you enough to tell you ‘no’ sooner rather than later. I don’t know, frankly.”

He rose from his chair and stood by her desk. He paused and pretended to take interest in a photo, and surreptitiously watched her eyes rove over him, crown to heel and back again.

“What is your name, dear?”

She blushed and lowered her gaze. “Erin.”

Asher felt her pulse begin to speed. He salivated at the sight of blood that rushed in under her cheeks, which turned her dark eyes almost black and made the dusting of freckles across her nose more noticeable by contrast. “Have you ever been healed by Dr. Aldan?”

“No. She’s training me to be a powerful healer like her, though. I’m learning the ropes working here.”

“You have the healing gift, too?”

“Yes.” She beamed. “I can only heal humans so far, though, and only minor to moderate wounds. It’s strange: non-humans take less energy to heal, but it’s more difficult to perform a healing on them. I don’t understand why yet. Something about ‘navigating their energies.’”

“And what does your boyfriend think of that?” He shot her a mischievous smile.

She giggled. “I don’t have a boyfriend.”

“Oh no?” Asher arranged his face in a shocked expression. 

She shook her head and bent toward him, eyes glittering with excitement. “I—”

“Erin,” Dr. Aldan’s voice crackled pleasantly through the intercom, “you may send Asher back in. Thanks.”

She looked momentarily crestfallen, but collected herself and cleared her throat. “Go on in, sir.”

“Thank you, Erin.” He smiled at her devilishly once more before stepping through to the office.

**Chapter 8: The Verdict**

“Asher, please have a seat at my desk. Thank you so much for waiting.” Dr. Aldan smiled at him as he crossed the room.

He sat in one of the two chairs upholstered in cream fabric opposite her brown leather swivel, the heavy mahogany desk between them. “Thank you for making your decision so quickly,” he paused before adding, with a ghost of a grin, “Erin said you usually take at least a day turnaround when deciding on a client.”

Dr. Aldan chuckled. “Charmed some information out of her, did you? I’m not surprised. You should see the way she swoons over those _GQ_ covers. I’m fairly certain she has a personal subscription, and earlier this evening she talked me into subscribing for the office.” She laid out Asher’s file in front of her.

“Are you equating me with a _GQ_ cover model?”

She blinked wide eyes up at him, “I, uh—that was unprofessional of me. I apologize.”

“You have not said or done anything this evening that requires an apology, doctor. And you are so polite and aware that I doubt you could, at least by accident.”

“Alright then.” She exhaled before returning her attention to his file. “I do believe you have some remaining anger issues—not with the incident that gave you those scars, interestingly, but with the scars themselves. If you had expressed a desire for revenge, or displayed self-loathing and pity, I would have denied you the procedure. Anger, however, is a good emotion; it is often the first step on the road to peace and acceptance.”

Asher was suddenly alert. “You have agreed to my case.”

“Oh! Yes, yes, I have decided to take you on as a patient.” She extended her hand to him across the desk.

He smiled from ear to ear and clasped her hand tightly between both of his. “Thank you, thank you, doctor.”

She returned his warmth. “You’re very welcome.” Dr. Aldan spoke into the phone speaker, “Erin, when am I next free for a healing?”

“This Friday, any time after four p.m.”

“Thank you.”

“About the procedure itself.” Asher’s face had returned to a somewhat serious expression. “Jean-Claude and I had discussed that, if I were to have it, it be done at the Circus of the Damned for safety’s sake.”

“A house call?” Dr. Aldan was thoughtful, then added, “Alright, I can do it.”

“Can you come to the Circus around ten p.m.? This Friday?”

“Yes, okay. That works for me.” She made a note in her calendar. “Before you go, let me give you a teaser.”

“Pardon?”

She walked around the desk and sat in the upholstered chair beside him. “A good faith show of my abilities. I make my patients jump through hoops; the least I can do is prove what I proclaim to do.”

“This is standard procedure?”

“Yes. The thought never crossed your mind that you’re getting your hopes up for nothing?”

“I—well . . .”

She smiled. “Here, give me your right hand.”

Asher rolled up his sleeve to the elbow and placed his right hand on Dr. Aldan’s left, palm to palm. She then held her right hand over his.

“Some people have told me that it feels like tingling, others that it’s like a deep-tissue massage, but I’ve never had someone describe it as painful.”

He nodded.

She closed her eyes and stretched her fingers out taught, tightening all the muscles. Asher didn’t know quite what he was expecting—light to shoot out from her fingers, chanting and humming—but he was surprised at how anticlimactic it was. He did feel something on his skin, a cool sensation pricking his knuckles, then burying deeper, as if cold water ran through the veins in his hand. It wasn’t unpleasant, but he wouldn’t describe it as enjoyable either; he’d not felt anything like it. She moved slowly up from his fingers to the width of his hand, around to his thumb, and finished at his wrist. It lasted no longer than a minute.

She took her hand back. “There you are.”

He stared at his right hand, held it against his left. They were identical, the skin as smooth as he remembered it from old. He looked up at Dr. Aldan, eyes wide, jaw open, and back again. Startled laughter peeled from his lips, followed by rapid mutterings in French.

“Friday at ten, then?” She smiled at his reaction.

He exhaled a long breath, “ _Oui_ —yes, _absolument_.”

They stood together and she walked him to the door.

“Thank you again, Dr. Aldan.” Asher took her hand and kissed her knuckles. “I am so very grateful.”

**Chapter 9: Circus Act**

Dr. Aldan followed her black-clad escort through a myriad of back hallways, down a large flight of stairs, and through the thickest door she’d ever seen into an enormous, cavernous space. In the middle of the seemingly never-ending vaulted cave was an area cordoned off by opaque curtains, and she could see figures within, their silhouettes moving about against the lights shining through. Her tall female guide never hesitated after closing the door behind them; she led Dr. Aldan across the leveled stone floor, drew the curtains aside and held them for her to enter. 

She stepped into a makeshift living room decorated elegantly in sheers, whites, blacks, and silvers. There was a combination of candle and electric light, and a black-varnished wooden coffee table with a prominent bouquet of black and white roses displayed in a transparent glass vase featured as the room’s centerpiece. Jean-Claude and Anita were curled together on a white fabric couch. He was dressed sharply in a Spanish-influence long-sleeved white silk V-neck blouse with ruffles at both wrists, lay flat against the shoulders and upper chest, but had extra room sewn into the lower portion, which was then tucked into tight black trousers. He balanced out the bottom with shin-high black boots adorned with multiple gleaming silver buckles. Had he been wearing a sword at his waist, Dr. Aldan would’ve thought him a dead ringer for one of the Three Musketeers. Anita’s clothes were modern, but carried on the same color scheme: crisp white dress shirt with the top two buttons undone, tucked into a mid-length black skirt that hugged her hips, and low black pumps that were sensible yet sexy. It was the basic professional workingwoman’s outfit, though Anita looked freshly showered and styled, and had on a lovely subtle floral perfume.

To their left and on the other side of the fireplace, Asher sat on a matching white loveseat in a relaxed posture, his right arm stretched along the back and his legs crossed. In keeping with the theme, he wore a black dress shirt under a well-fitting white blazer and matching white slacks, a silver-buckled black belt and chic black dress shoes that she was sure were an expensive Italian designer name. More than the cloak-and-dagger escort and fine setting in which she now found herself, Dr. Aldan was struck by the wanton smile plastered on Asher’s face as he looked from her to his friends.

As was her experience with this group, Jean-Claude spoke first, “Thank you for agreeing to do the procedure at our home, doctor; Asher told us you have never paid a house call before, and we are very grateful that you have made an exception for us.” He extended his arm out toward one of the plush, black fabric chairs across from them. “Please, have a seat.”

Dr. Aldan did as he suggested.

“Would you like anything? Refreshments of any kind?” Asher asked, once she had settled into the chair.

She smiled. “Some water, if you don’t mind.”

Jean-Claude nodded. “Claudia?” he spoke to the woman who had led her here, who was now standing unobtrusively in the background. “Could you please fetch our guest a glass of water?”

“Just a minute, Claudia,” Anita said quickly. She looked at Dr. Aldan for a moment. “Why do you suppose we have Claudia as part of our security team?”

Dr. Aldan blinked, and looked between Claudia and Anita. “She’s a tall, fit woman; she looks like she can handle herself.”

“Other than that. Anything else that makes her a good guard?”

Dr. Aldan didn’t like being put on the spot, and although Anita’s tone wasn’t hostile—yet—she didn’t like the line of questioning, either. In an attempt to nip this conversation in the bud, she voiced the one thing she knew about her escort: “She’s a wereanimal.”

“Which kind?”

“Rat.”

“Thank you, Claudia.” Anita turned to the woman as she addressed her.

Claudia nodded and left through the curtains on the opposite side.

“How did you know that?” Anita asked, and Dr. Aldan could hear the mounting tension in her words.

“I’ve already explained my talent and how it functions.”

“Yes, but it doesn’t account for everything.”

“What do you mean, everything?”

Anita wore a thoughtful, yet stern expression. “I can understand that your healing ability allows you to sense someone’s energy and tell if that individual is a wereanimal or not, but you can do more than that. You can sense specific strains of lycanthropy; you know which beast a person carries. You knew Claudia is a wererat, and when we first met in your office, you knew that I have multiple strains—canine and feline, you said. Here’s another question to prove my point: which beasts do I have?”

Her stomach turned to lead and the ominous feeling that she’d walked into an interrogation began to descend on her. “What does this have to do with Asher’s procedure? Isn’t that why I’m here?”

“We will get to that, in due time. First, please answer _ma petite_ ’s question,” Jean-Claude said.

He had remained calm so far, as had Asher. It seemed Anita was the bulldog of this operation: small, but tough and mean, she scared information out of people with her abrasive attitude. Just why Anita wanted information out of _her_ was still a mystery.

Dr. Aldan licked her lips. “Wolf, leopard, lion, and tiger.” She paused before adding, “Many tigers.”

Anita looked up at Jean-Claude. They had another of their silent conversations, but this time Dr. Aldan wished she spoke the language. Before anyone could speak, Claudia mercifully reentered with the promised glass of ice water. She walked over to Dr. Alan and handed it to her.

Asher stood and clapped his hands together. “Perhaps we should adjourn to more private quarters.”

Anita turned on him hotly. “But I want—”

“I know what you want. Let us not forget what _I_ want, what I have wanted for centuries, why Dr. Aldan is here in the first place.” The tightly drawn way he set his mouth gave his words the finality lacking in his tone.

**Chapter 10: Revealed**

Asher stood and extended his arm toward the wall of curtains behind them, a gesture that suggested Jean-Claude and Anita proceed him. Jean-Claude nodded to him and stood holding Anita’s hand; she frowned first at Asher, then, less severely, at Dr. Aldan as she left the living room. Asher waited for them to move several paces ahead before he walked to Dr. Aldan’s side and availed his arm to her.

“Oh.” She looked from Asher’s arm to his face. “Thank you.” She slipped her own arm through and rested her fingers gently on his wrist. “You all seem to be very . . . formal here. I apologize that I’m not dressed appropriately.” She fidgeted with the hem of her sea-green tunic shirt with square neckline and three-quarter length sleeves. She had paired it with dark blue skinny jeans and brown flats (thinking she’d look casually classy), but was now regretting the outfit entirely, and wished she’d just kept on what she wore to work that day.

“Nonsense, you _are_ the only one dressed appropriately.” He smiled down at her. “Jean-Claude enforces a dress code when we entertain guests, partly due to the social etiquette of the time when we were human, and partly due to vampire etiquette—though we rarely entertain visiting vampires.” He held the curtains aside for her and they both passed through toward a smaller, less imposing door in the wall ahead. “I apologize for Anita. I care about her very much, but I sometimes forget how she seems to those who do not know her well. She and Jean-Claude like to know all the metaphysical details of individuals we do business with. If there is something you haven’t disclosed, it is best to tell them now.” He looked at her carefully, taking in her expression and movements.

Dr. Aldan sighed. “I will consider that. Thank you.”

Asher led her through the door into a stone hallway. The hallway’s surfaces were the same type of stone as the eye-popping cave from which they had just exited, but the ceiling was of normal height and the space itself was well lit by entirely electrical fixtures. She walked beside Asher a few yards further before he stopped outside of another door; he opened and held it for her.

“One of our drawing rooms, for when we have smaller parties. I think this will suit us better.”

Dr. Aldan nodded. This room also had a color theme, but while the living room was meant to be stark and intimidating, the décor here was done in rich reds and golds—warm and welcoming. She instantly felt more at ease, despite seeing Anita and Jean-Claude already seated when she entered. She chose a luxuriously upholstered crimson chair and crossed her legs; Asher sat nearby, on her right.

“We’re going to do the procedure now?” She looked from Asher to Jean-Claude, hopeful.

Jean-Claude cleared his throat and smiled at her. “Yes, shortly. Doctor, I would like to extend an apology from all of us—” he glanced at Anita as he spoke— “regarding our brash questioning of your abilities. I should have first explained why we would like to know. In recent years, our network has grown so large that we rarely need to look outside of our preternatural community at the Circus for help with one of our own.” Jean-Claude met Asher’s eyes. “But Asher’s physical condition is one point that we cannot solve internally, and so we have reached out to you. As you have your own protocol when selecting a patient, so too do we have certain protocol when deciding whom to work with. We have researched you, preformed a thorough background check, and privately contacted some of your former patients. All avenues have produced glowing results. You have excellent statistics, no criminal past, and your patients love you.”

“So what’s the problem?”

Asher’s voice was soothing as he put in, “There is no problem, per se. It is only that Anita noticed that you were very specific in our meeting when you described her multiple beasts, and as a precaution, we wish to understand how you came to that knowledge.”

Dr. Aldan opened her mouth, but Anita added quickly, “Please don’t try to convince us that you know these things through your healing ability alone—everyone in this room knows that’s not true, and three of us would like to know the real reason.”

She stroked her forehead and looked into her lap. “What I’m about to say stays in this room. I need your word.”

“Of course,” Anita replied in a softer tone.

“ _Oui_ ,” Jean-Claude said.

Asher nodded, attentive.

She took a breath. “I’m a panwere.” There was a considerable length of silence that followed her statement.

Anita finally broke it. “A healer _and_ a panwere? Those two talents don’t exactly go hand-in-hand.”

“Neither do necromancy and lycanthropy,” Dr. Aldan replied with some heat.

Anita checked herself. “True.”

Asher leaned in toward her. “May I ask how—”

“No, you may not.” She raised her eyes to them, her anger no longer hidden. “None of you may ask me any more questions. I’m here because Asher requested a house call, and I’m only going to stay if I can get on with my work.” She inhaled deeply. “Without an audience.”

**Chapter 11: Down to Business**

Jean-Claude stood and beckoned for Anita to join him. “Thank you for your compliance, doctor.” They left the room together.

Dr. Aldan immediately stood and began to pace. She kept her hands by her side as she walked, flexed and released her fingers, and took slow deep breaths. She felt her pulse speeding and her beasts vying for attention, their collective presence growing stronger by the second.

Asher remained in his chair and watched her move to and fro. “What can I do?”

She shook her head rapidly. “Nothing. I just need to calm down.”

“Dr. Aldan, I—” He paused in thought. “What is your first name, by the way? I never caught it.”

“You didn’t catch it because I didn’t say it.” Her pacing and breathing quickened.

“Well? You know some pretty intimate details about me; I could at least have the privilege of knowing your name.”

“Oh, what the hell.” She huffed. “It was bound to come out sometime. It’s Clearblue—and don’t you dare laugh.”

Asher smiled broadly, but kept his laughter at bay as she asked. “Clearblue? Odd. Clearblue, Clearblue . . .” He rolled the sounds around on his tongue. “And how did you come by this name?”

“I have a twin brother named Clover. He has green eyes, I have blue.” She gesticulated in an attempt to substitute her faltering explanation. “Hippie parents.”

“How . . . interesting.” Asher’s faux-diplomatic tone made her stop and laugh out loud in a great quaking breath. She stumbled, and he guided her into a chair. “I did not realize I had made a joke. I am pleased you find me amusing.”

Her laughing slowed, and she cleared her throat. “It’s not that—this has just been the weirdest day. The first time I decide to make a house call, it’s to the Master of the City’s lair, at which point I’m grilled by two vampires and a necromancer-turned-wereanimal. I admit a long-kept secret to three relative strangers, and tell _you_ my first name while simultaneously trying not to burst into all of my animals at once.” She chuckled again. “And thank you for not laughing. You don’t know how much I was teased at school.”

Asher grinned. “You never know what can happen at the Circus. Perhaps that should be our official disclaimer. Are you quite composed now?”

“Yes.” She nodded. “I’m ready when you are.”

“Excellent.” Asher took off his blazer and hung it on the back of his chair.

“Okay.” Dr. Aldan looked around the room. “How about you lie over there.” She pointed to the red and gold floral-patterned couch that stretched along the left wall. “I’ll need you to take off everything but your intimates.”

Asher unbuckled his belt and began unbuttoning his shirt. “Lucky that I am not modest. How long will this take?” He hung his shirt atop his jacket on the same chair, sat on the couch and removed his shoes and socks.

“I’ve never dealt with full body scarring before, so I can’t be sure. Perhaps an hour? Where would you like to start, feet or head?”

“Feet.” He dropped his pants to reveal tight gray boxer-briefs. He retook his seat on the couch and lay out as she had instructed. Dr. Aldan knelt by his ankles and placed her hands over his right foot. Asher again felt that cold stinging sensation just under his skin, felt it move with her hands into each of his toes, around his heel, and over his ankle.

“Are you ashamed of your name?” he asked her softly.

“Not ashamed exactly, it just doesn’t sound professional. Whenever I publish articles, I always use my first initial, never my name. That being said, anyone who knows my parents isn’t surprised to learn my brother’s and my names. My mother is a visual artist and my father is a musician. Supposedly, they waited several weeks after we were born to name us. My father said they were waiting for a sign. He said it was when our eyes developed and took on different colors that did it. Apparently, my parents couldn’t tell us apart as babies, and then our eyes were different and they could tell who was who—they were our most noticeable feature, and my parents wanted to honor that.”

“I think that rather sweet, actually.”

Dr. Aldan paused. “Do you—or did you—have any children?”

Asher laughed. “Goodness no! At least, not to my knowledge. When I was turned, I had not yet reached the age of settling down. And after I was turned, well, suffice it to say that children were the last thing on my mind.”

“So you never wanted children.”

“It is not that I did not _want_ them, more that I was never of the mind to have them. I was certainly not fit to be a father at the time. Now . . . I cannot say. If I was then the man I am now, perhaps I would have been open to the idea of progeny. Why do you ask?”

“No real reason, just that I find vampires interesting. I don’t know how I stand on having children either. Human society puts so much pressure on young people, and women especially, to marry and have a family. I wonder how many women do just that, simply because it’s expected of them, or because they think they’ll regret not doing it once they reach old age. How different our lives would be if we had the lifespan of vampires—people would have children because they really wanted them, because they had lived for centuries without them and had come to the decision to change that.”

“You like to analyze.”

“Isn’t that what’s expected of us?”

“Who?”

“Psychologists.”

“Ah. Yes, I suppose so.”

Dr. Aldan’s hands reached the bottom hem of his boxer-briefs. “I, uh—how far up do your scars go?”

Asher sat up. “All the way.” He cupped his crotch with one hand and slid his right leg out of the garment, making sure to keep himself covered.

She cocked her head to the side as she examined the scarring that ran in the same drizzled pattern from his upper thigh, over his hip and to his lower torso. “They certainly weren’t playing around.”

“That they were not,” he replied sardonically.

He resumed his reclined position and she continued with her healing. He didn’t need to watch; the cool energy she pushed into him was most concentrated directly under her hands, and when she moved on from a particular spot, he felt what little warmth his body generated seep back in under his skin. It was most intriguing. She was quiet for some minutes, but he could feel her eyes darting to his face periodically.

“You would like to ask me something?”

“You don’t need to be embarrassed. I know, as a vampire, you haven’t had a physical in a while—perhaps ever—but I can assure you, I’m professional and discreet. I’ve healed patients with botched circumcisions, infected genital piercings, rape victims, you name it. If you have scarring on or around your groin, I’ll take care of it for you. You won’t be disturbing my sensibilities.”

Asher’s laugh bubbled out as a low rumble that she felt before she heard, as her hands were over his chest. “That is the one area the priests were squeamish about, thankfully. I have minimal scarring there. Most of it was contained to my foreskin, which I had removed a few years ago. There is still a line of scarring along my scrotum, but . . .”

Dr. Aldan looked up at him with raised eyebrows. “It’s not a problem, really.” 

“Thank you, but it is not necessary.”

“You’re sure?”

He paused. “Anita likes the texture of the scar in that area.”

Her cheeks flushed and she lowered her head to focus on his chest. “Of course. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to press you.”

“I knew we would broach the subject eventually.” He chuckled.

**Chapter 12: Brass Tacks**

Dr. Aldan had finished Asher’s chest and back and was rounding the curve of his shoulder. She had his right arm and face to go.

“Would it be alright if we took a break?” Asher broke the silence she’d been working in for the past three minutes.

“Sure. Is it getting painful?”

“A bit uncomfortable. The sensation is cool and making my skin numb.”

She nodded and sat back on her heels beside the couch. Asher rubbed and massaged his collarbone.

“May I ask you something? —Because I am interested, not to pry.”

She smiled knowingly. “You want to know about my lycanthropy.”

“Yes, that is, if Anita did not scare you off. Please understand, it is not that she thinks she is entitled to know your private life, but in working with Jean-Claude and his loved ones, there needs to be a certain level of transparency in order for us to feel at ease. All of us are non-human in some aspect; Anita herself is as far from human as one can get without becoming a true vampire. We embrace wereanimals, vampires, and metaphysicals of all kinds at the Circus.”

“I realize that.” She looked to her lap as she thought through what she wanted to say. “I got angry earlier because I’m usually so good at shielding. I’m used to being the one who can determine what a person can do, either by reading energy or observation. To have it turned on me was unnerving. As a panwere, control is critical—I need to keep my beasts from fighting among themselves, in addition to preventing them from tearing me apart every full moon. I’ve been in excellent control since I was a teenager; I can usually hide them even from other wereanimals.”

Asher sat forward. “Since you were a teenager? How long have you been a panwere? That is, how did you become one?”

Dr. Aldan shrugged. “I assume I—we—were born with it; my brother is a well. We weren’t attacked. As soon as we hit puberty, we had the ability to change into any animal.”

“Is Clover also a healer?”

“Yes, but he’s not as powerful—he wasn’t interested in honing that skill like I was. When Clover and I first began to display our abilities, our parents sat us down and told us they both had family members with extra-sensory capabilities. My maternal great-aunt was telekinetic, and my father’s brother has premonitions. My parents themselves were always very intuitive, which is why they say they were both drawn to the arts. Some people have witchcraft or necromancy in their blood, but with us it’s not one skill in particular that’s passed through generations, it’s broader than that . . . more like a general predisposition to metaphysics.” She smiled, deep in thought. “Do you know that barracuda are attracted by prisms and reflective objects?” Asher shook his head. “My mother describes our family gift as a diamond bracelet suspended in the ocean, glittering as the sun hits it, and attracting all manner of barracuda—metaphysics.”

He nodded. “Interesting metaphor.” Then his face went blank and he sat up straighter, closer to her.

“What are you—” A wall of energy slammed into her and a sound echoed loudly in her head: a whine of maniacal laughter. Suddenly, she saw dark spots on a tan hide, a black muzzle, and huge, teacup-size ears. Her inner hyena raised its head, sniffed, and whined in return. She gasped. “Stop that.”

Asher smiled, but it wasn’t endearing. It was the smile of a predator, of a person who knows he can take something if he wants it. “Hyena is my animal to call," he said simply.

**Chapter 13: Possessed**

Dr. Aldan stared hard at him, unsure of how to react.

Asher relaxed his posture and closed his eyes. “I apologize. I was testing your beast. I have yet to choose a hyena to call from the local cackle. Their leader, Narcissus, has made it clear that if I choose her and utilize her power, I must agree to be in her bed. She disgusts me and I am not willing to make that sacrifice at present.” He paused, opened his eyes, and returned her look unflinchingly. “You are strong, Clearblue. You could give Narcissus a run for her money.”

She shook her head. “I’ve made it a rule not to get involved with the were groups in town—how could I possibly commit myself to just one? The only wereanimal I’ve ever spent significant time around is Clover.”

“You have never compared your beasts to anyone other than your brother?”

“Compared? I’m not sure what you mean.”

“Competed for dominance.”

“Oh—no. We didn’t enforce a system of hierarchy or procedural codes on one another like the local groups do. We were just . . . ourselves.”

Asher’s eyes lost focus and oscillated slightly as he thought. “Do you mind if I invite Anita and Jean-Claude to return once we have finished?”

“I suppose that’d be fine.”

He smiled, charmingly this time. “Good, then I am ready.”

“Alright.”

Dr. Aldan resumed her kneeling position and placed her hands once again above Asher’s shoulder. “It shouldn’t be too much longer, maybe another fifteen minutes.”

“Perfect.”

She continued the healing in silence. She could tell Asher was claimed by his thoughts: he sometimes closed his eyes for minutes at a time, or stared intently at the ceiling. She didn’t interrupt, though she was wary of the subject that occupied him. Only when she had completed his body and moved on to his face did he return attention to her.

She held her hand gently over his right cheek for a few moments, careful not to brush his eyelashes, and then moved across his temple and forehead.

“Okay.” She smiled and let her arm fall by her side. “We’re done.”

Asher stood and slowly approached the large gilded oval mirror that hung on the back wall. His eyes widened at the sight of his reflection and he touched his cheek with his right hand, admiring the smooth skin on his arm, chest, and face.

“This is . . .” A red tear slipped down along the side of his nose. “Thank you, Dr. Aldan. I am as I was before.” The shock gave way to happiness and he produced a grin fit to slice his face in half. “Thank you, thank you.” He reached to her and hugged her tightly. “You do not know how much this means,” he whispered at her ear.

She returned his enthusiasm. “I’m so glad to help, Asher. Would you like me to bring in Jean-Claude and Anita?”

“ _Oui_.” He nodded vigorously. “They should be in the living room.”

“Okay, I’ll be back.”

Asher released her and she left the room and turned down the hall. Navigating back to the cave was easy enough, and Dr. Aldan entered quietly through the wooden door at the back. She heard Anita immediately, though her tone was strange: detached and almost cruel. It gave her pause, but she parted the curtains anyway and stepped through to the black-and-white room.

Anita turned to her so quickly that her motions blurred before her eyes. “This is her, then?”

It was Anita’s voice, but it sounded thick and layered, as if someone else was speaking simultaneously at a softer volume. And her eyes were extraordinary—lighter than she remembered Anita’s eyes—their color now like glinting honey.

“You are the doctor who has given our Asher a miracle?” Anita walked to her with an exaggerated swing in her hips and stroked a hand through Dr. Aldan’s hair. “My, but you are pretty, _cherie_.”

She caught Anita’s wrist tightly and jerked it away from her head. “What’s gotten into you?” Her eyes met Jean-Claude’s as he stood and made his way calmly but swiftly to them.

Anita laughed, and it was crass and uninhibited. “I believe you mean: _who_ has gotten into her?”

Dr. Aldan raised eyebrows at Jean-Claude over Anita’s shoulder.

His face was pleasant, and he wore a reserved smile on his lips, but his eyes were cold tunnels. He took a breath before he spoke. “We sometimes have a guest visit us via Anita’s body.”

“A guest?”

Anita answered for him: she lunged at Dr. Aldan faster than eyes could follow and pressed her body against the other woman’s, a firm hand clamped on the base of her neck. Anita kissed her roughly, forced her tongue inside her mouth as she worked her lips in a rhythm, and then released her before she had time to react.

“I am Bell Morte, Asher’s creator and Jean-Claude’s _sourdre de sang_. How very nice to meet you, Doctor . . . Aldan, is it?”

“Former,” Jean-Claude said forcefully.

“Mmm?” Anita—or the possessor of Anita’s body—pursed her lips as she questioned Jean-Claude, never taking her eyes from Dr. Aldan.

“You are my former _sourdre de sang_ , Belle.”

Anita waved a hand nonchalantly. “Oh, yes. Right.”

But Dr. Aldan wasn’t paying attention to their squabbling. Her beasts were reacting to Belle’s unsolicited attack: first her red tiger—her most unpredictable animal—roared and bared its canines, its shoulders taut and wound. Her lion lifted its head and followed suit. Her wolf loosed a trembling growl; her rattlesnake shook its tail in fury, and the rest fell in line. They didn’t like this Belle person. Not at all.

**Chapter 14: Party-Crasher**

Her beasts were growling, roaring, whooping, and howling in frenzied chaos, and her ears resonated with the din that only she could hear. _She disrespected us. We cannot allow it_. Dr. Aldan was trembling, both from the anger of her animals and in fighting to maintain control—and losing.

Belle, in Anita’s body, sniffed the air around Dr. Aldan and smiled wickedly at her. “My goodness, _cherie_ , you have a jungle inside you.” She glanced to Jean-Claude, who displayed no emotion and remained immobile.

Dr. Aldan backed away from them: one step, then two, then four quickly together. She sucked in a breath when her back hit the door she had walked through just five minutes earlier—when her world was still fairly routine and she hadn’t yet witnessed a vampire possession. She threw open the door and ran down the hall to the sitting room in which she’d left Asher.

She walked in to see his grinning face, which promptly fell at the sight of her distress.

“Belle’s here,” she said before he could ask.

His face went as stoic as Jean-Claude’s had been. “ _Here_?”

Dr. Aldan shook her head and tried to concentrate. “I mean, here, but in Anita’s body.”

He blew out a breath. “Even so.” And ran a hand through his hair. “Why?”

“I’ve no idea. But she knows that I’ve healed you, and judging from Jean-Claude’s behavior, he wasn’t expecting her.”

“We never expect her. She has a habit of showing up when it suits her and no one else—” He stopped and took a better look at Dr. Aldan. “Why are you shaking?”

“Belle . . .” She groped for the right word. “Came onto me. My beasts got angry, which outed me as a wereanimal and now she’s—uh—”

“Thrilled to have a new plaything?”

“I guess. What should we do? Is there a back door somewhere around here?”

“Not on this level. As for Belle, it is best to act as disinterested as possible and hopefully she will move on.”

Dr. Aldan’s voice climbed high with fear. “Hopefully?”

Sauntering footsteps aimed in their direction caught her attention and she positioned herself behind Asher, who had replaced his slacks but was still shirtless.

The door opened slowly and Belle moved casually into the room. She wore an arrogant smile—that is, until she saw Asher, who stood poised with the confidence of a young man to whom puberty had been very kind.

“Hello, Belle.” He let a few embers of sensuality burn through his voice. The perfect touch to accentuate his perfect body.

Belle seemed unable to hide her astonishment. Her jaw dropped open and her eyes moved meticulously over every curve of muscle, every inch of exposed flawless flesh.

“I thought I was mistaken—but, it is true. You are . . .”

“Beautiful again, yes.”

“Asher,” Dr. Aldan said, before she could think better of it.

He looked over his shoulder at her, standing behind him.

“You’ve always been beautiful,” she finished, feeling suddenly self-aware. “Your body is now symmetrical, yes, but beauty was never a question. You must know that.”

Jean-Claude caught her eyes and nodded ever so slightly. She had been so distraught over Belle that she hadn’t even seen him follow her into the room. He stood off to one side, gaze glued in silent wonder on Asher, pale red streaks marking his cheeks.

Belle tittered, and snapped everyone’s attention back to her. “Quite a bleeding-heart. You would be better off as a veterinarian—” she gave a shout of laughter— “Or do you already have too many animals in your life?”

Dr. Aldan closed her eyes and swallowed hard. She disregarded Belle for the moment and asked Jean-Claude, “How do we bring Anita back?”

“Belle has never inhabited Anita for this long. Anita usually comes back on her own.” He looked hard at Belle with a hint of what Dr. Aldan recognized as disgust. “But this _is_ a special occasion, and I suppose Belle thinks that warrants a longer stay.”

“Does it not?” Belle asked coolly.

“Perhaps you can use your wolf to call Anita back. Belle’s animals are all feline. Wolf will scare her away,” Asher said quietly.

Dr. Aldan nodded.

Belle held up a hand. “That is not necessary—I only wished to see Asher as I remember him.” She stepped closer to Asher and stroked a hand down his right cheek. “You are lovely, _mon douce_ ,” she whispered. She blinked back tears and looked to Dr. Aldan. “I will leave of my own accord once you have met my one condition.”

Dr. Aldan put a hand on her hip. “And what’s that?”

“Let me call your beast.”

“Which one?”

“As many as I can.”

**Chapter 15: One-Woman Jungle**

Jean-Claude and Asher exchanged a look, subtly of course, as was their way. Dr. Aldan looked up at Asher.

“Belle can call all the big cats, though she has never designated an individual as her animal to call,” he said.

“What will happen if I agree?” She spoke slowly, trying to think of a possible consequence but coming up short. Belle was not a person to be trusted. She knew that even after just meeting her.

Asher’s eyes darted again to Jean-Claude, who kept quiet. “I honestly do not know. She could betray you and make you hers. Or she could keep her word, call your beasts and be done with it.”

Belle stepped closer to Dr. Aldan. She smiled sweetly, and it was convincing. “Nothing will happen, so long as you lower your shielding enough to let me in. I am not responsible for whatever may occur if I have to force you.”

Not an assuring statement and despite the smile, she didn’t like Belle’s tone—but it didn’t matter. She’d thought of a plan, one that did _not_ involve her cats. _And I am not responsible for whatever may occur once you’re in_ , she thought.

“Okay.” She felt Asher stiffen beside her, but both he and Jean-Claude said nothing.

“Good girl.” Belle smiled again, less sweetly.

She closed her eyes and envisioned her animals clustered in groups, legions of them lined up, shoulder to shoulder. At the forefront were her dogs: gray and Arctic wolf, coyote, dingo, and fox; followed by her black, brown, grizzly, and polar bears; her venomous and constricting snakes; then came her osprey, eagle, hawk, and other raptors—on and on down the line to her cats at the back. She cooed at them, stroked their heads and told them softly that they’d get their revenge on this woman. If Belle could withstand a simultaneous attack from all her animals, then perhaps she deserved what she was after.

She felt Belle’s energy creep up, closer and closer until it was there, just outside of her metaphysical walls. Belle pushed gently on her shielding, knocking on her door. Dr. Aldan breathed deep and steadied her nerves. Then she let the chains go slack and her drawbridge came crashing down. Belle entered, accompanied by an overwhelming scent of roses. She felt the smell clog the nostrils of her animals, felt them twitch and begin to whine with the stinging weight of it. _Hush_ , she thought at them. _Hold your breath and be calm. She is almost yours._ That silenced them, and they remained in the shadows, invisible.

Belle sent out the call, and her cats’ fur bristled in response. Their legs began to shake in their crouched positions, and she melted a little at their palpable desire to spring forward and trot happily up to this woman with the rose aura. _Stay_ , she told her cats—at the same time she yelled _Go!_ to all the others. Bears, birds, dogs, and reptiles leaped forward together, targeting Belle’s limbs and torso.

Belle screamed, long and loud, and Dr. Aldan knew why: she felt her hawk pierce Belle’s shoulder with its three-inch talons. Felt her wolves sink teeth into the flesh of Belle’s arms while her dingo and fox nipped at her calves. She felt her boa constrictor begin to crush Belle’s leg as it worked its way up, felt her cobra rear up and strike Belle’s exposed ankle, instantaneously injecting its venom. Her bears had run around to Belle’s back, and now stood on their hind legs and roared in unison. Belle cowered when she heard the sound and tried in vain to extricate herself from the hoard of animals mauling her front in order to run from the towering animals at her back.

 _Stop_ , she thought, and all her animals froze where they were. The last fleeting image she saw was of Belle looking at her with eyes hollowed by fear—and then she was gone, disappeared from the midst of the animals, her energy retracted in the space of a heartbeat.

**Chapter 16: Recap and Goodbyes**

When Dr. Aldan opened her eyes, Anita was on the floor, coughing and breathing hard. Jean-Claude stooped to help her up and kept one hand at the small of her back once she was standing. She expected Anita to be angry but met a wide hearty smile instead.

Anita was almost giddy when she asked, “What did you do?”

“I admit, I am curious myself,” Jean-Claude added.

“I let my animals attack her—except for my cats, of course. I kept them hidden. They were angry at the way Belle forced herself on me before, and so when Belle said she wanted to call my beasts, I thought it was a good time to let her see what they could do.”

“She _forced_ herself on you? You told me she came on to you.” Asher was confused and more than a little outraged.

“Well . . .”

Jean-Claude answered for her: “Belle kissed her in the living room, before I could fully explain the situation.”

Anita looked equal parts shocked and embarrassed. “I’m _so_ sorry about all this. We thought the Circus would be the safest place for Asher’s healing, but things seem to have taken a turn.”

Then, for the first time, Anita looked at Asher and a gasp escaped her lips. She went to him and ran hands over his entirely smooth chest, then stood on her toes and kissed him.

“Yes, Dr. Aldan did a wonderful job, did she not?” Jean-Claude beamed at the two of them as they embraced.

When Anita turned back to Dr. Aldan and Jean-Claude, her face was slicked with tears, and her smile had grown even larger. “Thank you,” she said quietly, trying to hide the thick emotion in her voice.

Dr. Aldan returned her smile. “I was happy to do it, even if it was more excitement than I was expecting.”

Asher laughed, happily and clear as a bell. Jean-Claude’s face brightened upon hearing it, and he reached out an arm toward Anita and she cuddled beside him.

Asher composed himself and clapped his hands together. “Now there is only the matter of payment.” He reached into the pocket of his slacks, retrieved a folded envelope, and handed it to her. “Thank you again,” he said softly.

She nodded and slid the envelope into her back pocket.

Asher moved closer to her, turned to Jean-Claude and Anita and said, “I will walk Clearblue to the exit.” He recoiled slightly when he realized he’d used her first name and shot her a look of apology.

Jean-Claude raised his eyebrows, but it was Anita who said, “Clearblue?” She gave Dr. Aldan the once-over and then met her eyes. “Well, it fits.”

She blushed. “It was good to meet you.”

“And you,” Jean-Claude said with easy charm. The smile hadn’t left his face since Belle disappeared.

Asher guided Dr. Aldan from the room. They retraced the way she had come, complete with the maze-like hallways of the Circus’s upper level, until they reached the side entrance that opened to the parking lot. He held the door for her and followed her out. She had parked close; the walk to her silver Camry was a short one.

“This door-to-door service is nice; I should visit the Circus of the Damned more often.” She pulled her keys from the front pocket of her jeans and leaned against the car’s bumper.

Asher laughed politely, but then his expression and tone turned serious. “I have thanked you several times already, and I have the urge to do it again, even though I know how ineffectual it is to try to thank someone who has changed my life so drastically for the better.” He paused as he grappled with his thoughts. “What is the proper course? How do I show my gratitude?”

She smiled. “Believe me, your words are enough. I saw the way you reacted to the healing, and I saw Jean-Claude and Anita’s reactions. I know this means a lot not only to you, but to those who love you, and that is enough.”

He nodded, then reached out and swept fingers through her hair. “Perhaps then, just in case . . .”

She watched him with big eyes as he leaned in toward her. Apparently ‘walking you out’ was the same term employed by male vampires as by male humans. His world wasn’t so different—strange, yes, but not quite as different as she’d initially thought.

His mouth touched hers gingerly at first, testing. When she kissed him in return, he wrapped an arm around her waist and brought her against him. His lips moved more urgently, his tongue daring and inquisitive. One hand was entangled in her hair while the other was firm on her back. She responded in kind: matched the rhythm of his mouth and ran her fingers over his bare chest and shoulders.

They continued that way for an extended moment, at the mercy of their bodies and electrified by the satisfaction of so being. Finally they parted, both breathless, both shaking with desire.

Asher took a step back and clasped his hands behind him. “Goodnight, Clearblue.”

Her eyelids fluttered, still heavy with endorphins. She managed a grin. “Goodnight, Asher.”


End file.
